


in my mind you're running circles

by Coara



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Carrie's POV, F/F, Pre-Elementary, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coara/pseuds/Coara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Beautiful brown eyes connect with yours and without hesitating another second you reach for the smoothie and gulp down half of it in one swallow."</p>
<p>The relationship of Carrie Dwyer and Joan Watson throughout the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in my mind you're running circles

**Author's Note:**

> During the first scene Carrie was introduced and Sherlock gave his comment about "failed sapphic involvement" this headcanon wouldn't leave my mind.

It’s the third week of med-school when you notice her. Black hair caught in a tight ponytail, cheeks flushed and eyes hectic when she tries to collect the papers, she just dropped, from the floor. Other students are hurrying past her to get to their classes and you are sure you should be on your way to the library, too, but still you walk over to her. Get on your knee and hand her one page after the other.

„There you go.“, you smile, while you rub your hands over your jeans to dust them off.

„Thank you, I probably shouldn’t run through those hallways one minute before class.“, she crosses her arms and holds the documents against her chest. A shy smile on her lips and a new blush covering her cheeks, she looks at you expectantly. Your eyes drift to your wristwatch, ten minutes into the class already, her eyes widen when she glances at her own, „Ah damnit, I should go. Thank you so much again and sorry for bothering you!“

And gone she is, down the hall and into one of the many classrooms. Good for you that you’ve got a free period right now.

 

#

 

„Is it okay if I sit with you?“

You look up from your printouts from some textbook about genetic nerve disorders to see the woman from earlier today standing on the other side of your table. She doesn’t look so hectic anymore, just teetering back and forth a little bit, with a meal tray in her hands. „Sure, no problem.“

„I’m Joan by the way. Joan Watson. Thanks again for helping me there, I probably would have missed half of my class.“, she sits down and puts a plastic cup in front of you, „That’s a homemade smoothie. It gives you the best balance of vitamins for your studying. A little thank you. I hope it’s to your taste.“

You look back and forth between Joan and the drink, a little bit stunned, that she made you something. Joan shoves the canteen-food over her plate with the plastic fork, looking nervous.

„I-I don’t know if your allergic or something, but I hope you’re not?“, beautiful brown eyes connect with yours and without hesitating another second you reach for the smoothie and gulp down half of it in one swallow. The taste of different fruits, milk and spices explodes in your mouth and it's probably something you want to have now every time you’re crushing your braincells over nerve disorders.

„Wow, that’s really good.“, you mumble as you lick your lips, trying to savor the taste on your tongue.

Her face lights up and now she begins to eat, satisfied and a little bit more relaxed it seems. You look at her, _really_ look at her, while she is staring at her food. She seems a little bit familiar - maybe she is in one of your classes - but otherwise she is just really nice to look at. Gorgeous. You can’t stop the smile that’s tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

„My name’s Carrie.“, leaning a little bit forward, you’re now full on grinning when Joan can’t stop a smile of her own. Maybe the first weeks here won’t be that boring at all. 

 

#

 

Adrenaline and endorphins are circling through your system. You’re exhausted, muscles burning, but feeling like you could run a marathon now. Maybe because you passed all your exams with better grades than you expected or because Joan ‚no I don’t have a crush on you‘ Watson lies naked half on top of you. Equally panting, sweating and cursing under her breath. 

 

#

 

„Oh, come on, Joanie! Don’t be upset, it’s just a stupid case!“, you follow her through your shared apartment. 

„A stupid case you _knew_ I wanted to work on. Why couldn’t you snatch someone else's wish-case away?“, her voice trembles and you know you fucked up bad times. This  residency has always been a competition. So when the opportunity for this case arose you took it before even your girlfriend could get in your way. Joan has _always_ had a steadier, a more accurate hand than you and _you_ have always been a sore loser.

 

#

 

When Joan fails and her patient dies you try to be there for her. You really try, but with your own career at the front of your mind, as your first priority, you just can’t. You say things you don’t mean, but you are annoyed and frustrated and under so much pressure - you have to work hard to be the surgeon Joan has the natural talent for - so you walk away without looking back when she, in tears, yells at you to get out.

 

#

 

You haven’t seen her, haven’t talked to her for over a year, when she stands in front of you again in the hospital with that Sherlock-guy she’s apparently working with. He seems to be too intelligent for his own good and you’re thrown off when he asks about Joan’s and your relationship.

You avoid the question, but you can see Joan’s posture tensing up.

Maybe it’s just your ego, but you don’t want to take advice from her about your patient. So, even now after this time of no contact, you can’t hold back the hurtful comment. You are hurt as well. That she made a new life without you. That she doesn’t even needed you and has now replaced you with this former drug addict.

You want to say so much more when you are standing at the threshold of the brownstone. That you’re sorry, not just for that comment you made, but for everything. It doesn’t come out of your mouth. And you are leaving, saying _again_ something you don’t really mean. 

 

#

 

New York is a big city and you know it’s foolish to go for a run that close to the brownstone, where you assume Joan still lives, but you’re nevertheless surprised when you see her.

You’re sitting, resting on a bench, in a beautiful park, when she catches your eye. Just as beautiful as you remember her. Hair in a ponytail, tight running pants and a grey tank-top stained with sweat. You always thought she looked the most attractive when she came from her runs in the morning. Maybe it’s because she always slid into bed with you again after her shower.

You don’t know why, but you’re on your feet and walking closer to her before you can stop yourself. 

You see her slow down and stopping in front of a bench, where a woman sits, a sketch block on her lap, pencil in hand. The blonde looks out of place clad completely in designer clothes. Joan seems to know her and by the way she stands and articulates with her hands she isn’t very pleased.

It’s not very polite to eavesdrop, but you can’t help it and stop behind a tree a good few feet away from them. 

„I thought I told you to stop drawing me.“, Joan sounds pissed, you know that voice good enough.

„Oh, but you’re my most favorite subject, Watson“, she has a british accent and sounds like that Sherlock-guy from the way she talks. You don’t like her and you’re wondering how Joan came to know someone so posh, snobby.

„Didn’t that huge painting of me kill your infatuation? And don’t answer that, I don’t want to hear it. Just stop drawing me.“

„That painting I did from memory. I fear I didn’t catch everything you have to offer on that canvas.“, the sound of steps on grovel and sand lets you look around the tree. The blonde now standing only inches away from Joan, one hand cupping Joan’s cheek. „Like that blush running down to your chest. Or the only slightly visible veins at your clavicles.“

The blonde’s fingers are running over those veins and you really want to interrupt their exchange right now. But you’ve got no right to be jealous, even though you have the urge to take that sketch block and hit the blonde across the head with it.

„I won’t sit for you, I told you so more than once.“, you try to suppress a shiver at the tone of Joan’s voice and the way she looks at the other woman. Some time in the past you have been the one on the receiving end of _that_ look.

„Then let me propose a compromise, my dear Watson. You don’t have to sit for me, _if_ you give me the chance and let me memorize _every_ little part of you.“

You run, you don’t care if they notice you, but you can’t stand it anymore. You shouldn’t have listened to this in the first place and now you feel sick, because an ex-girlfriend _you_ left has definitely moved on.


End file.
